


Taking Liberty

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Banned Together Fills [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Condoms, Crack Treated Seriously, Dental Dams, Dildos, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lube, Magic, Mild Praise Kink, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pegging, Size Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Somewhere between Pygmalion and Ghostbusters 2 lies the best night of Steve's life(or, the one where Steve gets pegged by the Statue of Liberty's 12" strapon)The how doesn't matter, the why doesn't either. The point is, the Statue of Liberty is alive, a couple of inches shorter than Steve, and very interested to find out just how much Steve can take. Literally.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Statue of Liberty
Series: Banned Together Fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825168
Comments: 18
Kudos: 40
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Taking Liberty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apfelgranate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apfelgranate/gifts).



> __  
> This is my fourth fill for Banned Together Bingo 2020, for the fill **'Fuck the Man'** (because she's gonna) - consider this a Pygmalion AU. Inspired by the artwork of [Apfelgranate](https://apfelgranate.tumblr.com/) and the digital artistry of [Bas Uterwijk](https://basuterwijk.com/index). (Further info on how this story came about and my choices regarding it are in the end notes)  
> 
> 
> _ Also, due to experience, here is the following warning - this is the Statue of Liberty turned mostly-human by magic. If she was just shrunken down and come to life, she wouldn’t be able to get naked and have sex. If you can’t get your head around that, you’re gonna have a bad time. _
> 
> _ **Thanks[Apfelgranate](https://apfelgranate.tumblr.com/) for the inspiration, and for the permission to go ahead with this.**_

*

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**“People have only as much liberty as they have the intelligence to want and the courage to take.”**  
_― Emma Goldman_

“Oh, is it my turn?” she asks with a smile, because Steve’s dropped his towel by now.

She has barely any trace of an accent now, he wouldn’t even hear the last of the French if he didn’t know to listen for it - she’s New York, New York now. Which makes sense given that she’s been in New York for over a century.

“I figure I should go first,” Steve answers, because it seems only fair to be the first one undressed - let the Lady know what she’s getting into. 

She seems to have a pretty good idea already, though, confident and smiling in a way that suggests. 

They kiss because he wants to kiss her and she doesn’t shy away when he moves to do so, and she’s cold to start with. She’s made of metal, why would she be anything but? But her skin, though cold, though definitely metal, is somehow flesh too. That, he supposes, is what you get with magic, but it’s still strange, still new. 

“You know, you were supposed to be safe with me,” Steve says. 

He’s not exactly a bodyguard but she’s never been into New York before. Not like this, not herself. 

“Aren’t I safe with you?” she asks, biting back a smile. 

She sheds the diadem almost immediately, as soon as he pulls back enough to let her, and the stola and pella are next. She pushes them off her body and he lets her - neither interfering nor pressuring, he allows her her own pace - but she’s older than he is and maybe she’s been missing this kind of contact the same way he has. When her clothes are loosened, she lets them go for them to fall, fluttering down with the strange melodic wind-chime sound of metal-turned-supple, and he can’t help but be in awe of her, his gaze raking over her body. 

Steve’s slept with a few people before but he’s never experienced the sensation of _maybe we shouldn’t_ that seems to plague the men in those books you find in airports. I don’t know if we should do this, it feels so wrong but it feels so right- Steve doesn’t feel like that at all. Lady Liberty is a statue, but this is very much not a statue. Liberté is a woman, and she is magnificently handsome. 

Strong-jawed and broad-shouldered - she’s shorter than him but there’s no less strength in her. Though her hair is full and thick, wisps curl against her skin like the kiss-curls of the flapper girls Steve used to looks at pictures of in his mother’s old magazines. Her collar bones are sharp and symmetrical, her breasts high and small, and her stomach isn’t flat but curves gently from her ribcage, defined by health and labor, her hips wider than he might have thought them to be beneath her stola. Between her legs, more jade-colored kiss-curl tendrils swirl upward, a chevron that climbs to an artistic point on her lower stomach - hair in the neoclassical style. Her thighs are broad and smooth, dappled further back with the silver-green lines of a body grown strong, and the power in her physique is visible enough in her limbs that the simmer of want in his stomach warms a little more with it. Strong features, a body shaped by hard work, sharp gaze despite her blank eyes, and a wry smile when Steve talks. She knows what she wants - she told him as much.

“You know,” he says, shaking his head. “I grew up with you, I used to stare at you seventy years ago. You haven’t aged a day.”

“Flatterer,” she laughs, “you weren’t there for my restorations,” but she’s still smiling, and she settles her arms over his shoulders. “So it’s true what people say about you, huh, you love Liberty?”

And he laughs too as he settles his hands at her waist. He doesn’t want to rush a thing, not now, but she shows her enthusiasm a moment later, presses her body up against his. He gasps at how cold she is on his bare skin, hasn’t thought to expect it, and she smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Even though they have no irises, no pupils, though they’re smooth and blank, there’s a warmth in them and a languidness to the tilt of her head as she stands with him, almost-but-not-quite kissing him again.

“Listen,” he says, “as much as I admire architecture, and as much as the concept of Liberty is absolutely dear to my heart, I…” and then he searches her face, shakes his head. “I never looked at you on your pedestal and thought of you like _this._ ”

She smiles, offers him another kiss then, the tang of her lips on his for just a moment, and then she steps back, covers his hands with hers where they rest warming her waist, and lifts them to her breasts instead, a knowing smile on her metal lips. Her breasts are little more than a handful to his artist’s fingers but he loves them that way, cradling the cold, fern-colored flesh in his hands. He stares for a moment, arrested by the sight of it - his huge palms cupping soft, smooth metal, holding them as carefully as he might hold the leaves her color reminds him of. He leans down to kiss her again, finds her lips have cooled once more, and strokes careful thumbs over her emerald nipples. She breathes hard though her nose at that, and then hums into his mouth with a low rumble of metal.

“Mh, how is this even possible?” he murmurs, because he does love architecture and he knows for a fact that Bartholdi and Eiffel never molded lungs, didn’t gift her the workings of a human being on the inside. 

“What’s possibility to the wonders of experience?” she asks instead. “Did you think they _gave_ me my stretch marks?”

“I don’t think anybody’s ever given you anything, I think you’ve worked for everything you have,” he answers, and she raises one slender eyebrow. 

“Clever boy,” she says in her lilting voice - it resonates through him because it resonates through her - and he find that it doesn’t prickle to be called that by someone who’s older than him even by the calendar. There aren’t many people he knows who are older than him according to the year they came into existence. “It’s true it hasn’t always been easy, but I think maybe it’s your turn to work hard for me.”

He tamps down the excitement that bubbles up and tries not to nod too hastily. 

“Absolutely,” he says, the taste of her on his lips when he wets them. “Please. How do you want to do this?”

She scrapes her teeth over her lower lip as she smiles - unexposed to air due to the fierce determination in her expression day-to-day, the copper is so pale that her teeth are almost white.

“I weigh half a tonne, pretty boy,” she says, “maybe you should be on top?”

He laughs, startled into it, but getting him to laugh seems to have been what she wanted.

“Here,” she says, and pulls him down with her, “lie with me,” and he does, goes with her to lie by her side, settling next to her, and they lie face to face, he with one hand on her waist, she with one hand at his chest. 

He kisses her then, eager to keep doing it because he likes it - it’s been a while - and she kisses back, a soft brush of lips slowly coming up to meet his body temperature. He lets his hands roam over her skin, still not used to how metal feels when it’s still metal but human too, and strokes over her breast, follows the curve of her side. And then she turns onto her back, twisting her shoulders away from him to settle herself laid out for him, and pulls his head forward by his hair to kiss him this time. He goes easily, propping himself up on one arm to lean over her - he’s always had a thing for women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to make him give it, and he tries not to think too hard about it.

Instead, the next time their kisses peter out, he brings his hand up between them and licks the flat of his fingers to get them nice and wet - he’s learned a lot of little tricks in the time he’s been alive but he knows first and foremost that the number one rule of pleasuring a vagina is you don’t go in dry.

She watches him do it, settled in his pillows like she’s always belonged there, and looks wry about it, and then she bends one leg at the knee and drops it outward like a challenge, pushes both hands into his hair and pulls him down again.

He’s not looking to rush, not tonight. 

“We can take our time,” he says, brushing the dry backs of his wet fingers down the length of her torso, and she plays with his hair a little - hers is heavy, thick and sculpted, and she acts like his is a novelty.

“I’m one hundred and thirty five,” she answers. “Do you think that my spirit has never wandered?”

He looks down at her, strong and beautiful and looking right back up at him with a distinct dryness to her smile. 

“Well then I’m guessing you know what you like,” he says, and she raises an eyebrow at him. 

She doesn’t say otherwise, and he kisses her again, unfolds his hand and just places it between her legs over her labia, cupping soft, cool flesh to press his palm against it. 

“Mmh,” she says into his mouth, and he massages his palm in small circles while her fingers flex in his hair, fits his middle finger down the center of her labia and just puts a little pressure there, just shifts his skin. 

He can feel her smile against his mouth and she rolls her hips up to meet him the next time he flexes his palm. 

“Mh, ‘s pretty good,” she says, and he looks at her, so close his eyes cross.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, biting back his own smile, and she laughs on a breath and nods, scraping her teeth over her lip again.

And then she does the same for him - one of her hands slips from his hair and drops, and then she’s winding her fingers around the length of his erection a moment later. He feels his face crease up as he smiles, her fingers are not at his body temperature yet, and her nose wrinkles with amusement too.

“It’s weird,” she says, not quite laughing, and he looks down at where her jade green fingers are wrapped around his very-much-not-green dick.

“Yep,” he chuckles. 

“It’s nice though,” she says, and he looks at her face again and nods.

It is, actually.

“Yeah.”

She searches his face with her gaze for a moment.

“You know,” she says, “when you were lost, the city mourned.”

Steve narrows his eyes a little.

“I,” he says.

“I know you know,” she says.

“I just didn’t know _you_ knew,” he answered. 

“We all knew,” she answers. “Boy from Brooklyn, we all knew. New York celebrated the end of it, the war, but they wept for you. They put your statue at my feet, and I was sad they took it away when you came back.”

He searches her face, knowing he’s missing something, and the hand in his hair curls in the strands instead, gripping instead of stroking. It’s her other hand that starts to stroke.

“I always did like to look down at you,” she tells him.

Steve feels himself flush red, mouth fallen open at the strength in her hands, but wets his lips anyway.

“Yeah, I,” he says, “I always liked lookin’ up at you, too,” and she smiles, and then she laughs.

“Well then?” she says, smirking, showing all those pretty peach teeth as she lets go of his dick and lifts her chin. “For old time’s sake?”

He bites his lip a moment later and dips in for another kiss - she tastes like pennies, like the water used to taste sometimes when he was a child, the scent of her metallic in the back of his throat like hot afternoons counting change at Coney Island. She’s in his senses like a memory, he realizes, and she smiles at him like someone who’s known him for years. Before he can duck down any further, she releases his hair and runs her fingers over his cheek, cups his chin a moment. 

“I meant what I told you,” she says. “The city, my city, she wept for you.”

But Steve isn’t about to let the first evening she spends in New York in her own body be marred by sadness.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he says, and kisses her one more time. “Now let me make it up to you.”

He knows how to do this, of course - there are some things a man never forgets. He almost - _almost_ \- tells her he might be a little rusty at it, but then he remembers he’s talking to magically animated copper, and reconsiders. Instead, he presses his lips to her throat and revels in the soft sigh she gives him when he does, moves his body over hers and shivers when her cool jade thighs bracket his hips, when he settles his stomach to hers and finds that it needs to warm. Her breasts press against him, her nipples firm and cold against his chest, and he mouths at her perfect collarbones and lets his eyes flutter closed when she grips the hair at the back of his head once more. 

She hums softly, a happy sound that vibrates through both of them, and then he kisses her sternum, covers one breast with the palm of his hand while he nuzzles at the other. He doesn’t take long to give her what she wants, she’s been waiting long enough, and he makes sure to roll one nipple under his thumb while he suckles at the other. She laughs, and flexes her hips against him, which he knows because he’s hard and she’s _cold_ where he’d expect wet heat. 

It doesn’t put him off - he can’t think of much that would at this point - but it’s something to note. Her belly’s beginning to warm to him now, the insides of her thighs too, but he doesn’t have enough contact with the rest of her to warm her up.

“Are you cold?” he asks softly, because he doesn’t know if she feels it.

“I’m cold by nature,” she answers, smiling down at him, so it’s evidently not a problem.

He suckles at her nipple for just a little longer, breathing in the scent of her while it stirs long-forgotten memories, the flesh hard against the roof of his mouth, durable in a way normal flesh cannot be. She likes it, too - she makes no move to pull his hair to guide him, only lies still and hums softly, making gentle sounds of pleasure while he learns how to get her to make more. She stretches under him, arches her spine and tips her head back as she brings one leg up to hitch it over his hip. 

It fits him against her, where she’s smooth and cool and soft, and he groans softly against her skin, trying to concentrate on the movement of his other hand so as not to disappoint. They don’t even have to be too careful. He’s done a lot of reading about this century and learning how copper’s a spermicide was one of them - he’ll wear a condom out of courtesy, of course, but they neither of them have to worry if it breaks.

It’s only when she shifts again, the not-quite-discomfort of arousal leaving her restless, that he continues on his way down her body. 

He kisses over the soft metal skin where her breastbone ends, follows the base of her ribcage one way and back, and then the other, and her fingers tighten in his hair, her other hand strokes inward from his shoulder to the nape of his neck and _squeezes_. When he glances up she’s watching him carefully, breathing softly through parted lips, and and he smiles. She looks like she’s enjoying herself, at least. He starts to kiss her skin open-mouthed, following the midline of her torso only to bypass her navel, following the shallow curve of her lower stomach down, down until he can run his tongue over the molded curlicues that lead him further.

 _“Ohn,_ yeah,” she whispers, tilts the cradle of her hips upward, and-

He should have figured, he guesses. Simple chemistry - if her skin is green from exposure, then what’s not exposed has never changed. Her outer labia, with those same molded curlicues, are as jade green as the rest of her, but the inner labia, and the small, mostly-hidden clitoris nestled near the top of them, shine copper in the light. It’s not bright like her teeth are bright, not dull the way human skin is dull. Instead, there’s just enough of a shine for her to catch the light, and he stares open-mouthed. 

“What…What’s wrong?” she says. “I-Is something-”

“No, nono,” he says, fascinated. “No, I’m sorry - no problem, just…”

She lifts her head and looks down at herself.

“The patina?” she asks, but he shakes his head slowly.

“It’s gorgeous,” he breathes, “the copper. I wasn’t expecting it, it’s beautiful.”

She laughs, like the sound tiny objects make falling into complicated machinery, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. 

“You are strange,” she says, amusement curling her lips. 

“Oh?” he says. “Me? Or us?”

“You, _vous_ the plural - your children, I’ve seen them, they’ve been brought to me-”

“What, our poor?” he asks, wryly, kissing her inner thigh as he keeps his eyes on her. “Our huddled masses?”

The movement of her head would suggest she’s rolling her eyes even if her lack of irises won’t show him for sure, but she’s still smiling.

“Your tourists,” she answers, hovers a hand above the bed to show how small. “all your little bitty babies, they’re small and flush,” and she lifts her hand to wave it over her face instead, “when they’re new. Little pink children, but then they grow…” she brings her hand back down, brushes the backs of her jade green fingers against Steve’s cheek. “And then they’re different.”

He kisses her thigh again, a little higher up. 

“So that’s my patina?” he says. “I started a little pink baby and now I’m a big pale man?”

She brushes the hair off his forehead, brushes her hand down his cheek, presses the pad of her thumb to his lower lip and tugs it downward just a little.

“And still pink underneath. Like me. When I was new I was different. Now I’ve got my patina and…” she waves a hand vaguely between her legs this time. “This is just…”

“Mmm,” he says, nodding slowly. _“Just for me.”_

She laughs again, turns her head away for a moment. He takes the opportunity to lean forward, and breathes over the metal - it fogs over with his breath for a second or two before the condensation retreats in the warmth of the ambient temperature - and she gasps, the pliant metal of her muscles jumping against his shoulders. He can see the movement of her labia with it too, a clench of muscle in anticipation that gives him a little more to see. 

“Well wouldja look at that,” he says, more to himself than to her, and he’s too low down for her to reach the back of his neck, so she rubs her fingertips on his skull instead, the other fingers still wound in his hair. 

He kisses outward first, following the gentle crease between thigh and torso along the outside of her labia - down until he’s near to where the green patina gives way to the copper he presumes is sensitive, and back again without touching the copper just because he can. He kisses over her mons, the lines of the molded hair textured against his lips and…back down the other side.

“Ai, that’s,” she mutters, rolling her head back before she lifts it to look down at him again, tutting at him. 

He keeps doing what he’s doing without breaking eye contact, and she frowns down at him, halfway between want and irritation. 

“I’m a hundred and a thirty-five and you’re teasin’ me,” she says under her breath, that accent he knows well with just a tinge of one he remembers from the war. “You think you’re funny?”

“Hilarious,” he nods.

He sucks his thumb to wet it and then…well, she doesn’t seem to be wet at all, actually, and he glances up at her.

“Yeah?” he says.

 _“Ah, oui!_ ” she says, so exasperated it comes out ‘ _ouiii-yuh,’_ sitting up a little as she frowns down at him, perhaps meaning to direct his attention, but he smothers his laugh and nods.

“Okay, ‘m sorry,” he says, as kindly as he can, and he settles his fingers against her pubic bone so he can stroke the pad of his thumb between her copper labia, up over the hard ridge below her clitoris and over the clitoris itself just as she says,

_“Combien de fois doi- Ohn…”_

Her slender brows come together immediately, mouth dropping open, and he pulls against her mons just a little with his fingers, just enough to bare the little bright copper pearl of her clitoris. 

“Hah ,” he breathes softly.

It’s not like her labia, matte and dark like burnt umber. It shines like a new penny, small and smooth and protected, rose gold nestled in amongst the folds of her, and he lowers his thumb a little and catches the hood, bares it further.

“Mh,” she says, and so he wets his lips while she watches, stares straight back at her while he shuffles just an inch or so further, and he nods to himself, sucks his cheeks to wet his tongue. 

The he sucks his thumbs to wet them before he tucks the pads of them just inside her labia majora, either side of her clitoris, to open the flesh gently, watching her clitoris fall and rise as she clenches tight. 

“Mh, ye-es please,” and honestly how could he refuse a lady who asks so nice?

He opens his mouth wide and pushes the flat of his tongue down, into her soft opening, where the delicate dark folds turn to lighter, smoother metal, then draws it out and upward, thick and full and wide, until he’s licking over his own thumbs with her clitoris. He pulls a little further, draws the hood back a little more, and starts again, pushing the flat of his tongue inside her only to draw it outward and upward slowly until he can sweep it over her clitoris. This time he squeezes his thumbs together just a little, pushing inward to keep the hood of her clitoris back.

Her right leg moves just a little, twitching inward, and he does it a third time, pushing his hips down into the mattress when she makes a soft little sound of enjoyment. She tucks her chin down against her shoulder to watch, resting on the pillow instead of holding her head up. She’s been holding her head high since 1886, it’s about time she got a break. 

He does it just a little longer because he can, nice and slow, a gentle squeeze of her bright little clitoris every time his tongue sweeps over, and he can feel the pull of her muscles as he clenches down when he does it. 

“Ohn,” she says softly, she isn’t loud about anything really - he supposes that makes sense when your job is to be a silent guardian. 

“Hmm,” he says, and lets go just a moment, passes his tongue over it briefly once, twice, and then takes his hand away. “A’right.”

He snakes his left arm underneath her thigh to hold her steady, and then he uses his right hand to spread her labia gently. Then he swirls his tongue between the folds because that’s what he was taught to do - he was taught to do quite a few things, actually. She sighs softly, spreads her legs a little more, and he wets the pad of his thumb and draws a circle over her clitoris while he sucks the folds of her labia into his mouth. 

The next time he spends a little time easing his tongue inside, she makes a small noise through her nose.

“Higher,” she says and he pulls away to laugh.

“What this?” he asks, circling his thumb over her clitoris again. “This gorgeous little thing?” 

“Ah, yes,” she says, and he nods.

“This sweet little thing here, huh?” still doing it, but…

But she isn’t getting wet. Okay, he hasn’t actually done all that much but he’s hard, the tip of his dick is wet. And yeah, he has the serum, maybe he’s not a prime example for the normal rate of doing things but-

Actually, he wonders if she _can_ get wet - she’s made of copper, after all and, from what he understands about vaginas, it helps to attach one to a body more that’s more than fifty-percent water if you’re looking for it to self-lubricate it.

“Forgive me,” he says, “but I…I can use my mouth but you-”

“Ah?” she says. 

“Do you need….”

“Ah,” she says. “You need me wet?”

“Well, I…I mean” he says, because it’s ideal but not completely necessary at this point, “I can use my mouth but the lube’s in the nightstand, if you want. Water-based?”

“Ah!” she says, and reaches out to tug the drawer open, finding the bottle soon enough which she reads to check before she hands it over. “I won’t rust,” she says with a smile, shrugging as she hands him the bottle, and she closes the drawer again while Steve angles the pump nozzle over her labia. 

He’s liberal with it because it’s a little sticky but a lot slick, and it doesn’t much taste of anything. The way she tastes will override it anyway, and she gasps when he applies it, moans softly when he puts the bottle down and uses the tips of his fingers to spread it around because he can, smoothing it outward over her labia and down to her perineum, taking care to get a good amount of it under his fingers before he starts to draw wide circles over her clitoris. It’s more around her clitoris than on it, moving it around with the movements of his fingers, but he’ll get there. At least now he knows the lack of her body’s response isn’t his fault, isn’t disinterest. 

“You can do that faster,” she says, still wry, and he shakes his head.

“I’m about to not do it at all,” he answers, and settles himself properly, makes sure he won’t immediately get a crick in his neck - that would put paid to this idea pretty quickly. 

She frowns, presumably aware that he doesn’t mean he’s stopping but also not aware of what he does mean, and then he presses outward against her labia majora, _just_ a little to make sure she’s nice and open, and seals his mouth over her clitoris and a good portion of her labia.

She sighs softly way, way above him, and he cuts his gaze up in time to see her drop her head back, eyes shut, mouth open. 

She spreads her legs nice and wide for him immediately, cants her hips upward against his mouth and grabs for his hair with both hands. He groans at her when she does, doesn’t even mean to do it - there’s nothing better than this - than finding someone to please and being able to tell that you’re doing it right.

He starts a rhythm - reasonably gentle suction with the seal he’s made, suckling at her clitoris like he did for her nipple, and she gives him a long, satisfied sigh in return, raking her hands through his hair as she tips her head back in the pillow. He plans to watch her because he wants to see her, even though right now he’s just seeing the underside of her jaw, and he wonders at the molded curlicues he can feel against his cheek and philtrum - can she feel those too or are they unfeeling like the hair they’re modeled on?

He pulls back and sweeps his tongue over them just to see but she tips her head back down to smile at him. 

“Hi,” she says. 

He goes back to sucking at her clitoris, and she wets her lips, takes a long, deep breath that makes her chest rise and fall enough that it’s a distraction to him. 

“Wait,” she says, and he pulls back again, watching as she lowers one hand to spread her labia herself, one finger either side of her clitoris. “Okay.”

He kisses instead - soft, slow, open-mouthed against her, tonguing at the folds as he does, swirling his tongue over the bright little nub before he seals his mouth over it again, over the strange smoothness of skin that’s made of copper, and resumes his rhythm over her fingers. 

“Ah,” she whispers, brows drawing together a little. “Yeah, harder, do- Can you-”

He does, obliges, increases the suction just a little but he knows to be careful. Some people hate this, of course, he’s only met the one person who did but he knows they exist. Some people don’t like more than barely-at-all touches but, mainly, he wants to be careful because he doesn’t think she’s either of those types and he wants to have somewhere left to go. If he gives it everything right now, she’ll get desensitized, or maybe even too sensitive, and then the whole thing’s a wash.

Still, he’s got plenty of places to go with it and he knows what he’s getting after it - that’s the point, of course. She won’t get much physically out of their plans for afterward, but he’s looking forward to it himself. He knows he can, of course. Probably. But it’s going to be fun finding out. 

He pats the bedclothes near to him for the last place he had the lube - it can’t have gone far, must be here somewhere - and winds up knocking his knuckles on it by accident. It’s not difficult to work the pump bottle one-handed - he’s a guy with a pump bottle of lube that lives in his nightstand. He’s only ever _tried_ to work it one-handed. But it means that he doesn’t even have to break rhythm to get his fingers wet, and only has to slow down a little to ease two fingers into-

His brain skips a little - he’s used to soft, wet heat, and what he feels is soft and wet because his fingers are wet, but still coming up to temperature. He goes back for more of the lube immediately - although slowly enough, he doesn’t want to cause any discomfort - and then he’s a little happier about it, a little less worried his fingers will be too dry.

She sighs at him as he does, palm upward, so that his ring and middle fingers are inside and his pointer and pinky can rest outside. She stops spreading herself a moment later - fine by him, his mouth’s evidently in the right place - and cards her fingers through his hair instead. He knows that, bar the preferences of one particularly sensitive ex-partner, the good old come-hither motion isn’t enough to bring about a screaming orgasm, but he also knows you can’t go too far wrong with it either. He curls his fingers just a little, to see what she does, and she makes a soft little sound in the middle of her chest and pulls her legs up, drops them outward. 

“Mmmh,” he answers, and pushes his face a little closer. 

“Ai,” she mutters, hands going tight in his hair.

One disappears from his head a moment later and he looks up to find her stroking her hand over her chest, between her breasts and then over them. It’s not a difficult to thing to do, to stay where he is and do what he’s doing. The other important thing he’s learned from doing this is, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. 

“Mh?” he says, not that he needs to ask but liking to ask anyway, and she says, 

_“Mmmmh,”_ just about as enthusiastically as he’s ever heard anybody say ‘mmmmh.’

He goes a little harder, a little faster - dials up the suction a little more and keeps his tongue moving. He does pull back once, licks over her clitoris once or twice just to make it last a few extra seconds, but goes back to it soon enough when she draws her knees a little closer to her chest and keeps right on going, the same thing and the same thing until her noises come a little faster, until her breathing isn’t quite as measured.

He manages to get his other arm under her thigh to brace his shoulder against it while he works with his mouth and his other hand, and he curls his arm around her backside and splays his fingers against the small of her back when she arches her spine. 

“Oh,” she says, and then _“ohn,”_ and she throws her head back into the pillows and shakes her head. _“Oui, comme ça_ , God, just like that…” and he always did like positive reinforcement and enthusiastic consent and all that jazz.

Still, he knows not to be too smug - these are unique circumstances and he doesn’t actually know what experiences she’s had. 

She says, “Ah!” again, like it’s a shock, and he can feel her clenching tight around his fingers, nearly gets a crick in his neck trying to duck down to follow the cant of her hips, and then (he really wishes he had more than two hands, he’d love to have his hands on her breasts right now) she grabs at his head with both hands so he gives it everything - suckles hard and speeds right up and does his best to do his best and-

“Ai, _ai,”_ she gasps, _“ai,_ don’t stop don’t stop, I’m-” and then she falls silent, fingers scraping hard against his skull, closing tight in his hair, her cold metal thighs closing like a vice about his head hard enough that he knows he’ll have a headache - but he doesn’t stop, she told him not to. _“Oh!”_ she cries, high and sharp like shearing metal, _“ah, oui,_ yeah, _c'est ça- oh, oh,”_ she sounds like the way choirs echo inside chapels, like bells in church towers, the words all run-together under pleasure and ringing with the way she’s made, _“ohh,”_ and she groans like towers in the wind, like the Brooklyn Bridge in a storm - magnificent and timeless and stronger than anyone knows.

He’s actually pretty pleased he can make her sound like this, actually, and suckles at her softly, feeling the smooth-soft pulse of her coming under his tongue, the taste of metal and the still-cool clutch of her body about his fingers. He keeps going, too, makes sure to keep her wet and to use his mouth as best he can to keep her open, to make sure he can reach everything he wants, until her little sounds wind down to quiet things again, and then until they’re happy but stilted, and then until-

 _“Ai, c’est-_ that’s too much,” she says, halfway to a laugh, “ah,” and he understands the tightness of her thighs about his head, the way the hand in his hair pulls suddenly back instead of tugging him closer, how her body shifts beneath him. She laughs properly this time, breathless, and he feels how she tries to sit up, to move him back. “Ste _ven,_ wait, waitwait, stop!”

 _“Mm, un de plus,”_ he pulls away to rumble, sucking one of her copper labia into his mouth a moment later, tonguing at the folds. 

“Ohn, no,” she groans, but she’s smiling when he looks up, both hands down to stop his head, her breasts crushed together between her arms.

“You can manage one more,” he says, because he’s going to take long enough once it’s his turn. “How long you been waitin’?”

She looks at him, expression half-pained, but her smile is a smile even though it’s reluctant, and she lets go of his head with one hand to throw her arm across her face.

“You’re terrible,” she mutters, and he smiles as he nods.

“Yeah, I’m the worst, sweetheart,” he says, licks her with the flat of his tongue like an icecream. 

“Mnh,” she says, but she shakes her head. “No,” she says, runs her fingers over his cheek instead and then cups his chin in one hand when he pulls away completely. “Not now, huh? I want you now.”

Steve looks up at her and then down at the beautiful copper he’ll be doing his best to make a feast of later, and gives it one more open-mouthed kiss before he shuffles back to move up and out from under her. 

“You have everything?” she asks, still a little out of breath, he is pleased to note, and. 

“I have condoms,” he answers, and points at the bottle of lube, “and lube,” and she nods, pushing herself upright to sit up. 

She scoots down the bed towards him and kisses him when she gets there, even though he’s sticky with lube. It’s not like she can get it in her hair, anyhow, but-

“Oh,” he says suddenly, she’s got her hand around him and he didn’t expect it, and the thing is that people talk about a vice grip but they’re not usually talking about someone whose grip is literally metal.

He has to break the kiss to moan about it because otherwise he’ll just be doing it straight into her mouth, and she presses their foreheads together while she strokes him.

“Big boy,” she says quietly, and he laughs. 

“Not as big as you apparently,” he answers, because that’s the next part of this evening.

Her hand slows, slows a little more, and he opens his eyes to look at her as she moves her head away from his again. She rolls her head in the direction of the mattress, catching her lower lip in her teeth.

“Put on a condom, and then you can turn over,” she says, and Steve feels his cheeks flush as he nods. 

“Right,” he says, and stretches up for the nightstand to get one. 

She gets up, her weight lifting from beside him as he puts it on, and he can hear her moving around. It takes a fair few minutes, which is understandable given that she’s got to get ready and she’s just had an orgasm, but it’s not until she comes back that he can really see her - she comes to stand in his eyeline on purpose. 

And then, well…

“Wow,” he says. 

“What do you think?” she asks, but they both know what he thinks.

“Mainly, ‘me and my big mouth,’ ” he answers, eyebrows raised.

The dildo is brand new. It’s also twelve inches of insertable length and is sparkly neon pink, and it’s held at her pelvis by a sturdy brown leather harness. It looks a fair amount bigger than he’d pictured, despite the fact that catching the shield after he’s thrown it relies on complex geometry on the fly.

She wraps her fingers around the base of it and _strokes_ from root to tip, tongue against her front teeth.

“Second thoughts?” she says, and…

“Not exactly?” he says. “I’m not callin’ it quits just…”

She laughs, still stroking the huge sparkly pink dildo. It’s as long as her forearm though, thankfully, nowhere near as girthy, though it’s still a fair measurement around.

“We can take our time,” she says, parroting him coyly, and he nods.

“Uh, yeah, please,” he says. “I don’t wanna try any one’a those inches fast.”

She laughs.

“Poor baby,” she says, and comes to stand by the bed, angling the tip down with one hand so that it’s fairly near his mouth. “I know how good you are with mine, how about you show me how good you are with yours?”

He chuffs a laugh but cranes his neck. 

“I’m out of practice,” he says, lips brushing the head.

It tastes like every other sex toy tastes - plasticky and unremarkable - but he can smell her too, the copper tang, and that makes the difference. He gathers a mouthful of saliva and gets straight to it, shifting his body towards her as he opens his mouth wide.

He does like to suck dick, it’s not like he’s any stranger to that, but it _has_ been a while and the last one he sucked was flesh and blood. The weight of this is different on his tongue, the give of it is different, but it’s not like he’s never given a blow job sideways on before, and he takes maybe a good six inches or so before his throat even seems to notice.

“Easy,” she says. “Remember we have lube.”

Steve pulls of for a second.

“Yeah but I like sucking dick,” he says, and she laughs, strokes his cheek as he takes it a little deeper. 

She cards her fingers through his hair - he does really like having hands in his hair - and just touches his head and face for a moment or two, and he tries to do it the way he would if he were sucking a flesh-and-blood dick, but he finds it’s harder to be enthusiastic about sucking it when he’d really rather be riding it instead. 

“Yeah?” she asks as he pulls back and licks his lips, and he looks up at her as best he can from where he’s lying on his stomach. 

“What do you want me to do?” 

She looks down at him like he hung the moon, eyes slitted over a wide, warm smile, still stroking his hair. 

“Head down,” she says, “but…” and he laughs.

“Right, I got it,” he says. “Alright. Okay.”

“You sure?” she asks, and he nods, pushes up onto all fours. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “I can assume the position.”

It’s muscle memory by this point, after all. 

He’s never more aware of how naked he is until he’s got his head down and his ass up, of course, but he can’t be ashamed of it, not when he’s enjoying himself this much. One of her hands comes to rest on his hip and the other comes up between his legs, palm against his inner thigh.

“A little wider,” she says softly, and _that_ makes him blush but he does as she asks, sliding his knees outward. 

Her hand is dry when she cradles his balls, and he’s not expecting it so it makes him jump, but she’s just exploring, learning his body with her hands - she rolls his balls in her palm for a moment and then lets go gently - he’s had partners who didn’t, who just dropped them when they were done, and it’s a courtesy he appreciates - but she doesn’t touch his cock this time. Instead she draws her fingertips back along his perineum and then spreads him with both hands. He clenches reflexively and she laughs softly, flowing and musical, and follows the reflexive movement with her fingertips then, stroking over his hole gently. 

“Mh,” he says, because it doesn’t quite tickle, and he tilts the cradle of his hips down to spread himself a little more, to make it so she can get to him more easily. 

“I like a man who’s eager to please,” she says, and he huffs a laugh.

“I can’t imagine being a man who wouldn’t want to please you,” he answers, and he can practically _hear_ her eyes roll.

“Pick a number between one and forty-five,” she says, _“inclusive,”_ and he snorts, shakes his head.

“You just tell me what to do,” he says. “Anything you want.”

“Hmmm, good boy,” she says quietly, and she pushes the pad of her dry thumb against his hole as she does - he’s going to associate those words with this if he’s not careful. 

She draws away a moment later and he hopes she’s getting to it - whatever she wants to do, however slow, he’ll do it, but he wants at least her fingers soon, he’s wanted them for a while now. He hears the lube pump, and tries to keep still lest she tease, but he doesn’t have to worry about it. A moment later, three wet fingertips come up against his hole and start to rub, and he clenches again then, too. 

“Oh,” he says softly, and her other hand, still dry, comes up to keep him spread - not that it needs to, the position pretty much takes care of that. 

She doesn’t wait either - the next thing he gets is a fingertip pushing against his rim in circles to pull at the flesh enough to-

“Oh, ohhh,” he says, as one finger sinks into him. 

He can feel her knuckles either side so he’d guess it’s her middle finger, but it’s like it lights up his cock from the inside, sends stinging heat up his abdomen to his nipples. He flings a hand out and grabs for something, anything, mouth dropping open as she starts to press from the inside. It’s only a few seconds until she draws back to give him another and _that_ burns in a way he can’t quite dislike. 

“Ah,” he gasps, and her mouth is at the small of his back then, cool and gentle.

“Too fast?” she asks, and he shakes his head, spreads his legs a little wider.

“No, I,” he says, “I mean kinda? But I like that, so…”

“Mm,” she says, and just draws them out a little, pushes them back. 

It feels ridiculously good for what it is, even though it’s very definitely just prep. 

"God, I love your hands," Steve says, because it's true but also because she's got bigger hands than the last woman who did this to him, and it's round about now he starts to feel ridiculous. "Uhn, you gotta be careful-"

She stops moving immediately and no, that was not what he wanted.

"Too much?" she says, but he shakes his head.

"No," he says, and then, "kinda - it doesn't take much to set me off, you know?"

"Ahh," she says, warm and knowing, "I understand."

And he supposes, as he hears her unwrapping a condom for the dildo, it's not too much bother if he does come, he's not waiting to try and time it as closely possible with hers, he's not going to be pulsing hard and fast around a length she can feel. He could come now, sure, but he kinda of wants to be hard when he takes her, and-

"What?" he says, because that's not her fingers or the dildo, it's flat and wide and cool and- _"Ohn, fuck!"_

Okay, so she unwrapped a dental dam for him, not a condom for the dildo, good God, that's her _tongue_ -

"Fuck, oh _fuck_ ," she's not going easy either, and he slaps his hand down, spine bowing upwards as his shoulders roll, but she grabs his cock a moment later and starts stroking and- "that," he says, but swallows the word halfway through, breath coming fast, 

"Hmm," she says, mouth forming a seal over his hole through the latex, and then she _sucks hard_ and his toes curl, his fingers scrabble.

He puts his head back and makes a sound he's not really in control of, a full-throated groan that scrapes up like gravel from his chest.

 _"Fuck,_ yeah," he says, and she sucks harder, pushes with her tongue.

She pulls back to sweep her tongue over him once, twice, and then she sucks against his rim and follows it down, over his perineum. 

His brain wants him to laugh because, all the times he smack-talked bad guys and it's Liberty who ends up eating his ass, are you fucking kidding-

"That's, I'm," because it doesn't take much at all - he has the serum and he was inexperienced before it. First time he tried anything he didn't even get his pants off, and he's not much better now.

"Can you come again?" she asks, and he moans pathetically.

"Yeah," he whines, so she starts jacking him in earnest then, forgetting the preamble, skipping the foreplay - it doesn't matter, eating her out was foreplay enough for him. 

"Tell me when you're-"

"I'm close now," he says, "I'm, fuck, I'm close now."

When she laughs, she laughs against him, and his moaning is a ridiculous echo of it, brought about by the buzz of her copper tongue. When they're done with this, he wants to drive her mad with it, wants to make her scream with it, he wants her writhing on the sheets and begging him to stop while she begs him to continue. He wants to make her feel like she makes him feel, 'cause it's pretty fucking good.

She starts thrusting with her tongue at the same time as she's jacking him, following him when he jerks forward and giving no ground when he comes back, and he's coming up on it, it's right there-

"I'm gonna come," he says, "fuck, ah _fuck,_ " and then his lungs don't work for a second or two but-

Oh fuck-

It's like having a plug pulled, like draining a bath - he feels like a balloon that the air's leaking out of, like a melting ice cube or something - the tension leaves him all in a rush, and so does most of the strength in his limbs. It's like a punch in his gut, like his spine isn't sure where it should be, and the next moan he gives breaks halfway through.

She sits back soon enough, still holding his cock through the condom - it's nice, actually, she hasn't just left it to flop down by itself just 'cause he blew it already. 

"Oh," he says, most of his weight on his chest, he's now noticing. "Sorry."

"What for?" she says, sounding half like she's gonna laugh. "That's what I wanted, you can go more than once, right?"

"Yeah," he says. 

"Unless you're apologizing for your mouth," she tells him. "In which case, don't worry, I've heard worse - you know how many sailors pass me by got somethin' to say?"

He laughs a little unsteadily.

"Oh," he says again, but she's still got one hand on his ass and he's wearing a dirty condom, so he doesn't want to get too comfortable.

He pushes up a little and she gives him enough room that he can kneel up to remove and knot and discard it but, when he looks back at her over his shoulder, she's biting back a smile. 

“Do you want me to,” he says, waving in the general direction of his dick and pointing at the discarded condom, but she shakes her head. 

For a moment, he just looks at her, but then she touches her tongue to her incisors and raises both eyebrows and-

"Right! Right, okay, sorry," he says, and gets back into position. 

She makes a small sound of amusement through her nose and settles one hand on his ass, uses her thumb to pull the flesh aside, but then she's pushing two slick fingers into him and twisting her wrist and it's way, _way_ easier to contend with now - not only is he less likely to come in three seconds flat, he's not carrying any of the tension he was holding onto, which means the third finger is-

"Ohhh, god," so easy it's not even funny.

'Cause see the dildo isn't huge. It's not thick like a wrist, it isn't save-a-cowboy-ride-a-horse levels of maybe-this-isn't-a-great-idea - nono. It's a footlong dick - nice and slim in the way that Steve's dick is nice and slim. He won't be trying to take a twelve inch coke can, he's going to be sitting on a dick-shaped dick. It just so happens to be a good girth, and near enough a sixth of his overall height.

Piece of cake. 

After three, she gives him a fourth, and he's starting to feel an impatience he won't admit to - she's trying to do this right, but he kind of wants it now anyway. Sure it'll hurt but it's not like it'll hurt _bad_ \- it's more like the burn of an overexertion, like a hot curry or an extra lap on a run. Of course, Steve never gets tired on runs but it's the principle. 

"I can," he says anyway, because he's Steve Rogers, his mouth always runs ahead of his brain, and she spreads her fingers a little - there, that kind of burn - and thrusts them in and out some. 

She can only prep him some of the way, of course, but it'll be enough - they'll go slow. 

"I really," he says, "I could ta- I want-"

She finds his prostate instead, just a little nudge because she can, and that's enough to make everything a little warmer, enough to bring back some of that tension.

She does it again, firmer this time, more deliberate, a little longer, and he bites his lip and tilts his hips down to bring his ass up a little more. 

"One of the things I always liked about you," she says, rubbing him from the inside, "is how hard you'll work to get what you want."

He sort of laughs in reply but it doesn't come out like a laugh.

"I'd say you have a silver tongue but we both know that's not true," he says instead.

And then she laughs, but it's not one of those melodic chuckles she gave before - it's a proper burst of laughter that rings out and makes him laugh too, and then there he is on hands and knees with the Statue of Liberty's fingers in his ass, both of them giggling like idiots. 

"Sorry," she says, but he's trying too hard to hold laughter back to answer her and she withdraws her fingers. "Maybe I should just start, huh?"

They giggle for a little bit longer before they get it under control. Steve says,

"Ahhh," as his body figures out how to not just laugh, but then he gasps and says, “hu-ah!” when her fingers come back wetter and colder, and looks at her over his shoulder. “Cheater.”

She just raises one eyebrow at him and sinks her fingers back in for a moment.

“Ready?” she says, and he takes a long, slow breath when she twists her fingers.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

She scrapes her teeth over her lower lip and grabs a condom for the dildo, and he watches her roll it on. It’s one that’s _for the toy_ rather than one of his - he’s got a reasonably sized dick, sure, but it’s not twelve inches and they want to be safe about what they’re doing, so these are new. 

He turns his head back when she coats the thing in lube, and breathes nice and steadily in the few seconds it takes for her to push a little more lube inside of him before she starts. 

“Okay,” she says, “don’t wiggle.”

He snorts, shakes his head a little.

“Ain’t got no plans to,” he says, and then one of her hands is on the small of his back, and then-

He just breathes - it’s easy. She’s opened him up enough, the blunt head of it finds barely any resistance before it’s pushing past his rim-

“Ohn,” he says softly, wetting his lips as he lets his eyes fall closed, ‘cause he’s been breathing so hard he’s dried them.

“Yeah?” she asks, and he nods.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he says, because it is - he’s no stranger to this, not to taking or to toys, but it’s been a while and he didn’t realize how much he’d missed it. “Feels really good.”

The slow, thick slide of it is welcome in a way he hadn’t realized it would be, and he knows it’s not going to be too long until he’s hard again. He can feel it up against his prostate, slow drag of smooth silicone, and it’s much cooler than he’s used to, though it’s warming to his body temperature fast. In that way at least, it might as well be a part of her. 

But the thing is, Steve’s used to taking dick and used to taking toys but he’s used to four or five inches, maybe six on an indulgent weekend off, and the littlest of his plugs is a slim, two-incher. This is _not_ , it is _very much_ not.

In fact, it-

It's-

"Oh," he gasps, and he hangs his head while his lungs decide they're not going to breathe. _"Oh._ "

It's as long, he tries not to think, as her forearm - it's as long as her forea- 

She could put her forearm inside him, and he can't help thinking about that, then, her beautiful jade fingers pushing into him, brought together in a point, the slow, aching stretch of her knuckles, the way she'd push through and the ring of muscle would close about her wrist as she sank into him.

"Ohgod," he mutters, prick thinking about getting back in the game already, and he's sweating, he can feel it on his skin, prickling as it forms, itching as it moves. 

"Halfway," she tells him, stroking her hand up his spine and back, and he laughs hysterically, more of a giggle than anything else, as he drops his head to the covers and moves it back and forth to get at the sweat. 

"Nnndon't stop," he gasps, nerves lighting up one by one as she continues, the long, slow stretch like a deep, rolling shock. 

His body can take it, his body _will_ take it, he's going to have twelve inches of bright pink dildo inside him, and it makes his head spin. He can feel it opening him up, slick and solid and heavy - it's weighted, he knows it is, and it feels it, too - and it isn't going to stop. That's what does it most. Sure it's not going to stop until she's done, that the pushing through, the change inside of him, the way he can feel the thick bluntness up inside his body - but he _wants_ it, that's the real shock. He wants sex whenever he gets it, of course he does - there's plenty of times he's wanted before, but he wants _this_ and he wants it from _her_ and he's _going to get it._

"Fuck, don't stop, don't _stop,"_ he gasps, and she chuckles, low and sweet.

"I won't," she says, and he _knows that, too._

He wants to push back and take it all, he wants to shift forward and then fuck himself back onto it, but he's got to go slow and his shoulders ache, his thighs are shaking. He can feel it in his stomach, it seems like, like it's pushing against his diaphragm, and that can't be right but he feels full right up into the center of his body and there's sweat on his inner thighs, collecting in the hollows at the backs of his knees, soaking his hairline when she pushes her hand right up his spine and into his hair and back down his spine again.

"Ohhh, god," he says, and he feels full, he thinks he _sounds_ full. 

It makes his spine ache with the effort to stay still, makes his knees burn with the effort of being against so much sensation. He is so incredibly aware of his balls and the way they tug at his perineum when they swing forward, and she has her other hand on his hip, fingers curled into the flesh there. It's not until she stops him moving that he realizes he was moving, not until she does it that he remembers her hands are _metal_.

"Ohn, _ple-ease_ ," he gasps, the word hitching halfway through as his head goes back and then drops down, skin burning.

He pushes his forehead against his forearms and tries to keep his ass up for her. 

"Almost there," she says, amused, fond, and he groans, groans again, wonders if she wants him to beg.

He's almost surprised when something touches the cheeks of his ass, cool and smooth, and then his rim stretches with a heat that doesn't quite burn, widening just a little before-

"There you are," she says, pushing just the last little bit before she _wiggles herself_ as if to say she's done. 

It's barely anything, millimeters side to side at most, but he feels it right up between his lungs, feels it snap up his spine and sink into his thighs and his balls and he clenches reflexively but it's big-

His mouth opens and nothing comes out for a long few seconds.

"Ongh," he manages, and the sound catches halfway up his throat, feels like he shouldn't be able to breathe past the huge thing inside of his that seems to spear him from ass to larynx.

"Good?" she says, and he whimpers - hears himself do it and doesn't even care. 

_"So good,"_ he rasps, and she hums though her nose, pleased.

"Hmm, come here to me," she say, an invitation that his brain isn't sure he can refuse or comply with.

"S-Slow," he says, because he's shaking, his body feels like it's fatigued, wrung out, "please, slow, I-"

"Of course," she says, not unkindly, not like it's obvious, not like she'd never make him go faster than what he thinks he can manage. 

But he does it, for her he'll do anything - he lifts his head first, a great weight on a neck that feels like it's made of rubber, then one palm down to push against while his elbows turn to Jell-o. His other palm is next and then he pushes up with them, and-

"Mmmmmh, mh," he says, biting his lips to keep quiet even though he doesn't need to keep quiet, eyes squeezing shut against the onslaught. 

Once he's up on his hands and knees, her hands, her sweet, cool-fingered hands, come to his hips, fit to his waist and stroke upward, soothing against his flanks, to reach his shoulders and come together at the top of his back, to come down either side of his spine and spread outward at his waist again. And then she's curving her hands around his body to his lower stomach, cradling the shivering muscle of his belly as he gasps.

He clenches down again, his body doing it for him, and this time his dick comes up with the movement, hard and full as it gives a throb that echoes the ache inside him.

She doesn't say anything to him then, heat spreading out across his skin, sweat dripping off his nose. Now that his dick's up again, he wants to come - the blood stings as it rushes in and he'd grab for his dick except he doesn't know whether he'll be able to stay up on one hand. 

He has to do it at some point, he realizes, if he wants to give her what she's asked for (he does), and he takes a good few steadying breathes - in though his nose, out through his mouth, resting, resting, in and out, in, and out.

He steels himself to do it because he knows his body well enough, counts to three in his head and then pushes upward, up, back, to kneel over her lap and-

"Ah!"

The change in angle makes his head spin, makes his him tense immediately because he has zero staying power with this thing inside him apparently, and he can feel her breasts against his back, feel her pressing kisses to his neck, the back of his shoulder. One of her hands is still on his flank and he grasps blindly for the other where it's pressed against his lower stomach. He finds it, fingers closing around her wrist with one hand while his other gropes unsteadily for her thigh. 

He feels pinned, impaled, pleasure singing - his skin is shivering and his cock quivers - and it takes a moment for the world to right itself around them, his handful of cool metal flesh soft under his biting fingers, her hand holding his lower stomach as it twitches.

"Are you alright?" she says softly, hand sweeping up his flank to brush her thumb over his nipple.

He does it again, breathe, rest, in, out, and comes back to himself a little as he comes to the realization - he's done it. He's actually made it - he has all twelve inches of inside him right now, she's all the way against him, breasts against his back, mouth by his ear. 

"Y-Yeah," he says, strained but not as strained as it was, already feeling like he's run a marathon, but he's taken her, she's inside of him, he really did this, he really managed it, " 's just- -"

And then, incredibly, shyness takes over - relief a little, too. He bites his lip and turns his head, lets go of her thigh to seat himself more comfortably as he smiles, bashful about it despite what they're doing, and lifts his hand instead to the back of her head to hang on.

"- - _fuck_ , you're big."

He has the insane urge to thank her, to laugh, like a race run together or a battle fought side by side. The hardest part is over - there's only pleasure left - and she has her lower lip in her mouth when he opens his eyes, head turned back to look at her. She flattens the hand playing with his nipple to his chest instead - It's like they're sharing a secret, this is just for the two of them. 

He kisses her over his shoulder a moment later, pouring himself into it as though she might be able to taste his need, his longing, where he tastes metal and latex. 

"Whenever you're ready," she says, "boy from Brooklyn," and he touches his nose to hers and nuzzles for a moment.

They kiss again, briefly, a few more times. He's gearing up to do it and her hand is still so gentle against his stomach, but it's going to be his job to move. As much as she's letting him set the pace, she's making him do the work, too - that's what they agreed. 

"Oh man," he mutters, and she kisses along the back of his shoulder again, the side of his neck where his skin must be slick with sweat. 

In general he blushes from head to toe, and he knows it, and he can feel how bright he's gotta be right now, but she stays pressed to him, wrapped around him, making soft little sounds against his skin.

"This is for you," she tells him - because it's not like he's riding an actual dick; she can't feel it, not really, not like this. "Your treat."

He laughs but it's more like a huff of breath given the circumstances.

"What do I get a treat for?" 

And it's meant to be a joke, rhetorical, but she puts her arms around him and strokes them up his front, stomach, diaphragm, chest to hold him for a moment before she plays with his nipples - his eyes flutter closed - and then she follows the path back down. He grabs for her wrists again, gives a shaky moan when she sets one at the base of his cock and then wraps the fingers of the other to give a long, slow pull. She's holding him back, that's what she's doing, that hand at the base of his cock means she can pull and pull with the other and he feels like she'll go on forever. 

"Would you like a list, sweetheart?" she murmurs, and it's absurd but his heart swells with it, pride burns bright in the middle of his chest. 

He's a sucker for praise but from _her,_ like _this_ -

"We have all night," she says, "and I'm all yours."

God he wants her to fuck him, he wants her to pin him down and take him apart - she could, she's strong enough, and there are very few people strong enough.

"Please," he says, and she does it again, a long, slow pull on his cock, another - he isn't straining yet and her hand is strong and sure and she curls her fingers so his foreskin comes up over the head with each stroke.

"Whenever you're ready," she says again, but he needs a kiss, he _needs_ it, looks back to get one and she strokes him faster when he does, once, twice, so that he's gasping the air straight from her, back arching

When she pulls away - she has to, he doesn’t have the resolve to do it himself, he pushes his forehead against her temple and shakes his head a little. Not no, not stop, just _damn._

“Y’alright?” she asks as she seems to sink back a little - he realizes a moment later that she’s letting him lean back against her, trying to give him somewhere to rest. 

He opens his eyes again and stares blearily at the opposite wall.

“God, this was a hell of an idea,” he says, sweat crawling down his chest, streaming over his forehead - he burns with a flush from his hairline down, but they’re taking it slow, neither of them are new to this or foolish enough to be hasty. 

“Hmm, it was,” she says, a smile in her voice, her mouth cool against his throat, and he nods, holding himself as still as he possibly can. “You still alright?”

His calves are already starting to shake, there’s a burn in his thighs he didn’t know would happen so fast.

“I’m-” He swallows hard and gasps for breath. “Good, I’m good,” he breathes. _“God!”_

Her hands have warmed to his temperature now, matched so well so his heat that he can barely tell where they are until she moves, and she holds his hips - he forgets, of course, that she’s stronger than he is, that he can let her take his weight, and he gives her a little just to ease the ache in his legs. 

When he looks down, her jade fingers are still holding his cock at the root and pulling slow and steady on it with the other - and her hands aren’t slender, her thighs are just as strong as his. She’s worked hard, he knows as much, and she’s _had_ to be strong but, _damn_ , he loves a strong woman. His muscles flutter around the length again and he moans softly without meaning to, tilting his head back - she’s shorter than him enough that he can’t get his head on her shoulder as much as his body wants the respite. He’d forgotten what a strain it could be when your body wants to go fast but your mind knows you have to go slow. 

She’s still pressing kisses along the backs of his shoulders, each one warmer than the last, and one of her hands moves to stroke his stomach softly. He's half amazed that she can't feel the thing through his skin pressing on him from the inside. 

"Uh," he says, though it comes out strained, and she kisses the knot of his spine at the nape of his neck.

"You're trembling," she says, and he's going to laugh, but it doesn't get that far, it's just the soft exhalation of a body stretched thin. "Do you need to stop?" 

But he shakes his head. 

"No, I," he says, "you're so- It's, I'm just…"

It feels like his whole body's been constructed around it, like the only thing keeping him together is the gentle green fingers that hold him steady. 

"Overwhelmed?" she hazards, and he feels like his lungs are full, like his stomach is full, like his joints have petrified and this is where he should stay forever. 

He feels like if he doesn't look at the ceiling he might choke on how good it feels, it might consume him from the center outwards and burn him up until there's nothing left.

"Yeah," he says, because he was going to say _"that's a pretty good way to put it"_ but he doesn't have the braincells available for all that right now.

“Would you like help?” she says, and he isn’t sure what kind of help she means, not really, but she must have some idea or she wouldn’t have asked. 

“I,” he says, but his heart’s beating so fast he can feel it in his throat and his lungs don’t want to pull in the air to communicate.

He kinda wants to just lie down and take it, if he’s being honest, but the whole point is that he needs to be able to set the pace. 

“Let me try,” she says gently, and she waits for him to nod before she draws her hands back from his front, over his hips and down the outsides of his thighs - he has to let go for her to do it. “Ready?”

He nods again, probably way too fast, and she settles her hands _under his ass_ and slowly _lifts_ and-

 _“O-h-h!”_ he says, the sound shuddering just as hard as his breathing, and the thing drags out of him - he goes _up_ \- maybe two inches before she stops and _holds_ him there. “Oh, oh fuck,” he gasps.

“Still alright?” she asks, and it takes a second for his legs to hold his weight, for his knees to decide they’re going to work enough to keep him where he is. 

His hands search for her, one dropping back for her forearm, one down for her thigh, but neither is comfortable and he flails a little before he’s got both hands on her forearms.

“It’s alright,” she says, “breathe, get steady,” and he does, he tries but its so big and it’s up there so _far_ and it feels so _good_. “Can you kneel where you are?”

“Yeah, I,” he says, the words punched out of him. “I got it-”

And she slides her hands back up his thighs, back onto his stomach, so he can grab at her wrists. 

“Good, you’re doing so good,” she says, and he bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut and tries to kneel up a little more.

He keeps going until he’s as kneeling-up as he can get, and even then it’s still inside him a good actual-usual-dick-length. She kisses the middle of his back, scatters kisses over his skin, and he knows he’s sweating buckets, he knows he’s wound tight, but he knows he’s gotta come back down again sometime, and it might as well be now. Or maybe in a few seconds, once he’s worked his way up to it.

He tries to re-situate his knees, to get a better stance, and he manages but only just - he’s so full he can barely move.

“Someday you gotta put your arm in me,” he says, and she gives a surprised huff of laughter against his skin. 

“I bet you’d be a picture,” she says, and he was already red, he’s already blushing, a burning flush on all the skin he’s aware of, but he feels fit to burst at that - that it’s _him_ she’d be interested in, what he looks like instead of the act itself. 

“Okay,” he says eventually, gasping, “okay,” because he can do this - he’s already done it once.

He swallows hard and tries to angle his body a little better, arches his back until he feels like there’s less pressure on his lungs. His hands are still on her wrists when she strokes his skin with them, from his thighs to his shoulders and back, soothing over burning skin, calming over tense muscle. He makes the decision to sink back down and gets maybe half an inch before-

“Ah- _Ah,_ oh my- _G-ugh,”_ but he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t give up - he just keeps going, letting his own weight do some of the work. 

If his eyes end up rolled back into his head permanently, he’ll be useless as an Avenger. Still, if he’s useless as an Avenger he’ll be able to do this full-time and he can’t think of a much better way to spend his time than this. 

“Easy,” she says, “slow,” but she doesn’t really need to tell him that. 

Every increment makes him dizzier, fills him fuller, pushes pleasure further through his veins. He can barely breathe for it, and she strokes his skin and holds his body and lets him take what he can he can. It feels like forever until he's fully seated again, and it's taken him so long that her thighs have cooled from his body temperature back to hers. The girth would be enough to satisfy him by itself but length is insane to him - it's the longest thing he's ever taken even if it's not the thickest. But, despite the reach of it, despite the depth, it's the long, slow drag against his prostate every time that's going to get him, he knows. It'll leave him flayed and trembling with it and there won't be a thing he can do about it except stop, and there's no way in hell he'll be doing that. 

He makes up his own mind to kneel up the second time, braces himself for it and then moves and this is ridiculous, he can do press-ups until the cows come home, can hold a squat for hours, but this- 

Then again, he's never had to do those things impaled by twelve inches of plastic cock. He's seriously rethinking his predicament bondage parameters for the future, that's for sure, he's never _tried_ to hold a plank position with a vibrator inside him but that might be fun, if he remembers to say so. If he remembers _anything_ except his own name when they're done with this. 

He kneels up just as slowly as he sank down, and doesn't even try to hold back the noises he makes - desperate, half-bitten-off moans and fragmented gasps as he goes. 

"Alright," she says quietly, stroking his skin still, "take your time, sweetheart, take your time." 

But he doesn't _want_ to. He's almost used to the drag, to the weakness in his knees, the tremor in his spine, he's almost there and then, then he can move, can take her for real, then he can set a rhythm and lose himself in it, and he sinks back down still slow, but it still makes his throw his head back and groan through his teeth. 

His dick is _up,_ and leaking, and she didn't give him that second condom so it's drooling steadily down the length of his cock. 

"I need," he says, "condom, I don't have a-" 

"Shh, sh, sweetheart," she says, and wraps her fingers around it, strokes him from root to tip with his precome for lube, and his fingers go tight on her wrist, he can't help the cry. "Don't worry, hm? Make a mess for me, I don't mind." 

"Ah, shit," he gasps, and he can feel his muscles clenching around the length of it as far up as he can feel the thing, his whole insides pulsing with the effort of dealing with it, pleasure following swiftly in the wake of it. 

He sinks down again, slow, has to hang his head as he does. 

_"Ahhhhn,"_ but his dick pulses in her hand, precome blurts from the wet tip and crawls, slick and viscous, down the length to her fingers. 

She kisses the back of his neck, her breasts soft against the slick skin of his back and, when his spine bows and he leans forward, she goes with him, one hand tucked up against his chest, the other tight around his cock, her body against his back like a shield. 

He pushes up again once he's recovered and, this time, when he's as high as his legs can get him, he bobs a little where he is, taking an inch or so and kneeling up again a few times, just to loosen himself a little more. He doesn't think he needs to be much looser than he already is, but it's a comfort all the same, pleasure that's a little easier to handle. 

One of her hands drops away, the one from his chest, and comes back between them, where his flesh is stretched around the toy - more lube, cool against work-hot skin. She rubs over the stretched flesh with her fingertips and then grabs for his hip as he starts to sink down again, leaving a smear of lube against his thigh. 

"Fu-uck," he breathes, and she grips him tight like she knows he needs grounding, and then finally, _finally_ when he's back against her lap, he can feel the difference in his body. "Fuck, yeah, okay - I got it." 

"You sure?" she asks, and he laughs, nods. 

"Yeah, I'm sure," he says, and breathing is a little easier, the pleasure's down to a simmer at least when he's sitting still. "I'm sure." 

She hums through her nose and leans away from him a little, and it takes him a moment to realize she must be looking down at where his ass is flush in her lap, at where the toy disappears into him. 

"Then it's all yours," she says. 

So he starts to move. 

He goes slow first, just up and down, as far up as he can and then all the way back into her lap, a reasonable rhythm that isn't too strenuous. It's strenuous for different reasons already, but that's half the fun. Once he's sure he's got it, he starts to move proper, really moves his hips, and _that_? 

"Ohn," he says, head back, eyes closed, "oh, _fuck_ , yeah," and she still has the fingers of one hand around his cock, she's still just holding it instead of stroking it, but the other comes up to his chest from his thigh and, even though he can feel her hands, even though his got his fingers around her wrists, it's still a shock of pleasure when she starts playing with his nipple. 

"Alright?" she says, and he nods, fingers closing harder around her wrists - if she's strong enough to lift him and pin him (and, Jeez, ain't that a thought) then she can take the spasms of his fingers. 

He keeps moving, up and back, up and back, and she rolls his nipple between finger and thumb _just_ as she strokes upward on his dick, fingers pinching as she reaches the tip. It makes his whole body clench, makes his hips try to snap upward and- 

_"Oh!_ he gasps, "oh, oh," it's almost too much but it's still not enough. 

"Is that-" 

"Harder," he says, and moves faster, "that's, fuck, that's perfect." 

She scrapes her teeth over his shoulder next while he moves, starts shifting her fist over his cock in the same rhythm he's keeping for himself, and he starts to lose track of where his limbs are, starts to lose track of his body aside from the places the sweat has gathered to prickle - the backs of his knees, the crooks of his elbows, the small of his back, his hairline - and then places they're touching - his dick, wherever her other hand touches, her mouth, the entire inside of his body around the dildo. 

The climb to orgasm doesn't take long to start - it never does for him but now it's like it's being squeezed out of him, like it's being pushed out of his pores, like sails unfurling. He can feel the rolling boil of it in his blood and moves a little faster to chase it - he's gonna ache after this, even with the serum, that's for sure. She doesn't change what she’s doing much - much like he didn't when he had his mouth on her, of course, you don't need to change what's working - except that she starts to meet him on the downstroke, which he finds out when bottoming-out is more of a kick to his insides, and that's about the point he loses control of his mouth. 

"Ah, _ah_!" he says, and then it's just spilling out of his mouth each time they meet in the middle, jolted from his lungs without his input. 

He thinks he can't have any less control about himself until she tightens her fingers and angles herself just right and then his spine's snapping forward, his hips jerking upward like he could push his whole body through her fist. One of his shoulders hunches inward, head dropping forward, then again further, and he keens over the next raw spike of pleasure that lances up inside of him and bleeds down the insides of his thighs. 

"I wanna come," he says, but he's not close enough to do it yet, he needs a little more. 

She's long and smooth inside of him, pushing against his prostate like a never ending flare of want before it drags all the way back again. 

"Go ahead," she says, but he shakes his head. 

"I- _uhn,_ -" 

It's sapping all the energy out of him - he'll get there but it could take him hours like this. He lets go of her hands the next time he's sitting in her lap, grabs at her thigh with one hand and puts his other arm back over his shoulder to cradle her skull. 

"Please," he gasps, desperate even to his own ears, and she kisses him. 

She lets it last, lets him take his time with it, and then she pulls away. 

"Put your other hand back on my hand," she says, soft, gentle against his mouth, and he squeezes his eyes shut and nods, wraps his fingers around her wrist again where she's stroking his cock. "Alright. Now kneel up." 

He groans softly but he does as she tells him, raises up on his knees fully prepared to leave her behind - except she follows him up. She kneels up _with_ him, so he doesn't have to be apart from her, and then she draws her hips back and, oh, _oh._

"Oh God, _please_ ," he breathes, and she kisses him again and tightens her fingers and, in a voice like cool water on burning skin, says, 

"Alright, darling boy, I think you've worked hard enough," against his sweaty temple. 

And then she starts to fuck him for real - she doesn't start slow because she doesn't need to, his speed was dictated by the weakness in his legs and she doesn't have any of that. She's copper sinew, metal muscle, and he can barely hear the slap of her thighs against his over his own desperate breathing. His mouth is open and he only knows it when she kisses the corner of it because he can't coordinate to kiss her back properly, and then she's gripping him, fingers vice-tight around his cock, and stroking him in time with her thrusts and it's so _fast_ and so _much and_

"Aw, fuck," he says, the words half-swallowed, "ah _God_ , oh _fuck,"_

“That’s it,” she says, so close he can feel her breath on his lips, “that’s right,” and it feels like it’s trying to break his body apart, like she’s trying to break him into pieces. 

In the middle of the last climb to the crest of what’s about to be a substantial wave, his brain wonders at her core strength, and then he manages to give one desperate gasp and then, then,

“Oh,” he says, pitch rising as he does, and his body tries to get away from her but she holds him fast, his spine bowing outward his hips stuttering back to get away from her hands, and then up to get away from the huge shaft inside of him.

She grapples for him, he’ll remember vaguely later, has to get her arm across his chest to keep him close enough, but he presses his temple back against her mouth as he keens, orgasm tearing itself out of him like sandpaper, pulsing through his muscles fast enough that he can’t catch his breath. 

_“There_ you are, sweetheart, that’s right,” and he couldn’t stop if he tried - she won’t let him. 

Her fingers still tight on him, she strokes and strokes and it feels like he’ll turn inside out with it, like his whole being’s going to spill out and disintegrate because of it. All he can really do is hang on, which is just as well because his fingers have seized, his toes have curled.

She keeps going until his desperate gasps have changed to rhythmic moans, until his rhythmic moans have changed to hisses and spasms, until his body moves in ways he isn’t controlling, until he tries to turn his body away from her without even thinking about it. And then she eases her grip and slows the pace of her thrusts until he’s just hanging there in midair with her inside him, with her fingers loose around his cock like a cradle, until the only sound in the room is the huge, gasping lungfuls he’s taking while the ringing in his ears quiets and the beating in his chest comes down to a manageable rate. 

“Oh God,” he muttering, “ohhh God, oh God,” and she’s just kissing the sodden hair at his temple, stroking the length of his heaving torso with the flat of her hand.

He still feels _so good_ and his skin feels like it’s trying to shiver off his bones, his bones feel like they’re trying to melt away. 

“You’re beautiful, look at you,” she says, and he doesn’t really understand that they’re sinking back down until his full weight is in her lap again, until the full length of the dildo is pressing against him from the inside. 

“Shhhhhit,” he slurs, and she laughs, kisses his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his mouth when he figures out that’s where she’s headed and gets his head to turn that far. 

“Hmmm,” she says when the kiss breaks, “rest a minute, sweetheart, we got nowhere to be.”

And so he does, he does, he lets his eyes close and his body sag because, actually, she can take him. The weight of him, the breadth of him, he’ll be alright in her arms for a minute while his body comes down.

She shifts her fingers on his cock a little, and he has the wherewithal to look down at his own body and take himself in.

His dick isn’t soft, not really - it’s more like half-hard right now, because he’s had too much stimulation and the serum is almost never ready to quit - and it sort of…sticks out there between his legs, wet with his own come and flushed red at the tip, his thighs and his torso glistening with sweat. The skin of his thighs is stretched tight over the muscle and he wishes he could see, wishes he could kneel up and see where his body’s stretched tight around her toy. He shakes his head slowly and take a few more big breaths and, though they’re still shaky, they do help to bring him down.

He turns his head back then for a kiss that’s actually coordinated, and she’s smiling against his mouth while her hands move on his body.

“Ugh, wow,” he says quietly when she pulls away, and she kisses his skin and nuzzles his hair - it must be awful, his body’s _slick_ with sweat, but then again it’s not like he’d mind it it were her, either. 

“Good?” she asks, and he blows out a long breath.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and then lifts a hand to run it through his hair where it’s starting to itch over his scalp. “I mean, _yeah_ , Jeez.” He really did make a mess, although he’s not surprised. “You got a lotta core strength,” he says, brain not quite working yet, and she laughs.

“I should hope so - I’ve been holding that torch up for a hundred and thirty-five years!”

She starts to lean back, away from him, and he lets her go - he can support himself now - and then she’s drawing one palm down his slick spine and pushing it back again.

“When you’re ready,” she says. “Hands and knees?”

And right, she still has to get it out of him.

“Sure,” he sighs, and puts his hands out as he leans forward.

The change in angle still makes him gasp, but there wasn’t really going to be a way around that, and once he’s back on all fours all he really has to do is breathe.

She takes it slow, she goes carefully, but there’s not as much lube as there was, and the drag still makes him wince a little. It feels like it starts in his throat and moves past his heart, feels like he can’t breathe as it leaves his body.

“Ohhhh,” he sighs, and then he has to blow out a breath between pursed lips - he feels he’s collapsing in on himself, that he might just implode once it’s not there to fill him up.

What’s more, the sensation changes once it’s mostly out of him, once it’s down to what he usually takes - then it’s all pleasure and it makes him dizzy, leaves him empty. It’s probably because, it occurs to him, he’s far looser now than he usually is at this point. The last couple of inches are a definite loss, his body still clutching weakly at it, and he hisses through his teeth as it leaves - yeah, definitely could do with more lube.

“Mmmh, I’m sorry,” she says softly, hand at his hip while, presumably, the other hand steadies the toy. “That’s it, you’re doing real good,” and he bites his lip and hopes he doesn’t flush down his back as much as he can feel himself flush down his front at the praise. 

He knows he does, but a guy can dream. 

He groans as it leaves his body, she groans in sympathy too, and then he glances back at her, down at the ridiculous length of shiny pink, and shakes his head and gives in, flopping forward onto his stomach. 

“Huuhn,” he says.

It didn’t even last that long - not so much a let-down as a try-harder-next-time. Maybe he can get a second round in it they do this again. 

She laughs as he collapses, and then she shifts behind him. Her weight is gone a moment later but her mouth comes back to kiss his _calf_ of all places, before she really does get up to leave. He can hear her moving around and lets himself drift on it for a little while, the hot stretch of the muscles inside of him, the clammy coolness of his back and the backs of his knees, the slick wetness in his hair turning slowly to a tight, dry itch. He doesn’t sleep, but he could, breathing slowly to bring all the buzzing under his skin back down to a gentle hum.

He hears the taps in the en suite, hears her footsteps on the tile and the flick of the light switch, and then nothing more as she crosses onto the carpet until her weight settles beside him again.

“You know it’s a shame,” she says, stroking her hand down his tacky spine. “You got such a pretty face…” and then she tapers off and Steve, who’s folded his arms under his head, bites back a laugh.

“Shame I got a pretty face?” he says turning his head on his arms to try and see her, but then her hand is on his knee and she _flips_ him - like actually grabs his led and hauls him over onto his back and, oh, boy, he doesn’t even care that he’s lying in the wet spot - it’s his wet spot anyway and getting manhandled by Liberty is well worth that. God there are so many jokes he’s going to end up making about this in his head.

 _Serving Liberty is a Privilege, I Have Liberty At My Back,_ he’s going to be thinking of innuendos for years. 

“Smartass,” she says. “Disrespect your elders?”

“Sorry Ma’am,” he says, a little more breathless than he was a second ago because she’s right there with him, out of her harness, out of everything, naked and kneeling right there. 

There really is a kind of majesty about her, a sureness in her that makes his heart swell in his chest, a confidence that makes his breaths come a little faster. Obviously this is a woman who knows what she wants, but he really is in awe of her. She towers over him like this - not the same way she usually does but he’s filled with the same sense of reverence as usual - and, even though he has the serum, even though she’s human-sized now, he feels small by comparison. 

She shuffles toward him on her knees and he lifts his leg to let her between them, spreads them around her once she kneels there. She’s holding the lube in one hand and a little purple cylinder in the other - he recognizes it for a bullet vibrator and doesn’t particularly mind which of them is going to get it given that he’s happy to watch or participate as she sees fit. 

“It’s a shame,” she says and pauses with one eyebrow raised, to show him where the punctuation goes as she shuffles forward on her knees. “You have such a pretty face but I didn’t get to see what it looks like when you come yet.”

His mouth drops open, trying and failing to think of something to say to that as heat burns across his cheeks when what she’s said registers. She’s very tall like this, strong and beautiful and broad and soft in places and hard in others - he wants to paint her, maybe she’ll let him, to paint the soft green curves and stark shadows that make up a body made strong by toil and determination. 

“Uh,” he says, and she shakes her head as she comes to a stop, kneeling almost right up against him, his legs spread wide around her.

“Hold out your hand,” she says, and he does - right hand, because presumably she wants him to do something useful with it. 

She squirts lube in it, is what she does, and then lifts her chin at him.

“Go on,” she says, and he looks down, at himself and his semi, at her and her molded pubic hair, before he looks back up at her face. “Show me what you like,” she clarifies and, _oh,_ he can do that. 

He wraps his fingers around his cock and starts relatively slow - he would if he were by himself, that’s what he likes, so why not, and she smiles, and turns on her little vibrator. She puts it on the bed for a second once it’s buzzing in her hand, and then she gets her right hand full of lube, too - that makes sense, he thinks. If he’s lying here with his hand on his dick, maybe he gets to watch her too.

She picks up the little vibrator with her dry left hand and brings it up between her legs to press against her clitoris, hips jerking forward a little as she does before she’s biting her lip and smiling down at him. He’s torn between watching her face and her hand because a sight like that’ll do that to a guy, but then she shows him the wet fingers of the other like a question. He’s still not sure who’s getting them but there are only two options and the answer is very definitely yes to both, and her smile broadens, all those pretty teeth, that beautiful face, and she reaches down and pushes three of her fingers inside of him.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, head going back at the flare of pleasure because _yes fucking please,_ he’s still loose and open from the toy and she finds his prostate straightaway and- _“uhn!”_ \- his hips kick up by themselves, his eyes shut tight.

He can feel how pliant his flesh is around her fingers, can _hear_ the noise her fingers are making, even over the sound of his own fist on his cock, even over the high, ringing hum of the vibrator on copper skin, and it might have taken him a little longer this time if he were by himself, but with her fingers working steady inside him and the frankly stunning visual of her hips circling slowly over the vibrator as she stares down at him without wavering, it isn’t going to be long at all. He knows from experience how well mutual masturbation works when what you want is to get off quickly - it takes time to learn someone else’s body but it takes zero time at all to enjoy watching someone please themselves exactly how they like. 

“Yeah,” she says, and he spreads his legs wider, she shuffles forward to get closer still, her upward palm pressed tight against his perineum. 

He nods as well, an agreement - this is good, they should keep going - and it’s not a race but he’s very aware of the fact that he feels like he’s going to come first, watching the look on her face, the sway of her breasts, the flash of copper between her legs as the yawing whine of the vibrator reminds him just what she’s doing with it.

She nods, wets her lips, and he goes faster, strokes himself harder. She matches him stroke for stroke on the inside so he keeps going, harder, faster, stretching his whole body taut with the need to come. It almost hurts, his skin’s so tender with it, his muscles already overused, but she draws hard little circles on the inside, pulling against him to keep him stretched out and open, and he goes as fast as his tired limbs will let him go, draws one leg up in the hope of getting her closer and-

“Oh, that’s it, that’s it!” he says, gasping, and she nods.

“Look at me,” she says. “Look at _me_.”

And he does, how could he not? Flicks his gaze up to find her _staring_ at him and loses the battle he wasn’t really trying to win - his mouth drops open and his eyes roll back, and then his he tries and fails to keep his hips down as he comes hard into his own fist. Her fingers follow him, pressing hard still, and it pulses out of him, a throb like an ache as sweet as it is painful - between his legs, inside of him, in every muscle he can feel.

He doesn’t chase it for long, it’s on the edge of too much already, but he rides it out at least, slows his hand as his cock drools a little come onto his stomach - there isn’t much left now - and she slows hers to match. 

“Oh, god,” he mutters eventually, leaving his cock to lie against his stomach while he shuts his eyes for a moment and gets his breath back. 

She follows his lead after a few moments more, massaging from the inside as she slows her hand before she withdraws her fingers completely once more with a noise that he shouldn’t feel as hot about as he does. He misses them immediately but she’s still going and, when he opens his eyes, she feels suddenly very far away from him. 

Not acceptable.

He heaves himself up until he’s sitting, manoeuvres himself around until he can kneel up in front of her, knees to knees, face to face, and then he drops his dry hand between them to cover hers where she holds the vibrator against her clitoris, his other hand - wet with lube and come but they’ll shower after - coming up to rest against the small of her back. It’s his turn to hold her steady now, and she uses the stability he offers to start to rock her hips against the vibrator a moment later, where their hands are together. 

“Yeah,” she says, barely a breath between them, so he kisses her, slips his other hand down from the small of her back to slide between her cheeks, pressing wet fingers against the puckered flesh there. “Mmh!”

He wasn’t sure when he started to do it but that noise is definitely not a no, her wet hand grabbing for his shoulder. She walks her knees apart a moment later, starts thrusting in earnest - forward against the vibrator and their hands, back against his fingers - and he makes little circles, pushes the pad of his finger inward just a little in a flutter that the noise she makes next suggests she likes. It’s a soft, shuddery groan, and he thinks of pulling back and checking in, but her rocking changes pace, the little circles she makes with the vibrator grow faster. And then her hips jerk forward against their hands, shudder back, and then kick forward hard once, twice, a third time. Her breathing goes funny - he can feel it through her nose against his cheek, and she grabs for his arm, then his waist, then his shoulder again with the hand whose fingers are still wet from being inside of him. 

“Mmmhhhh,” she says, and then she presses her whole upper body against his and hums into his mouth while they kiss, all the tension flowing out of her so that she sags against him. 

It would be impolite to mention how heavy copper is - suffice it to say he’s glad he’s a supersoldier. 

They keep kissing like that for a little while, her body giving the occasional jerk with the aftershocks, her hips still moving gently, his fingers still making little circles not-quite inside. When, eventually, she pulls back first, she looks delightfully rumpled for someone whose every feature is carefully molded. 

“Whoof,” she says softly.

He chuckles, lets go of her vibrator-hand and uses the backs of his fingers (just in case) to brush across her forehead where he’d smooth her hair out of her face if it had fallen there. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and she nods, moves her hand out from between her legs and turns off the vibrator before tossing it aside.

They both kneel down where they are, which puts a little air and a little space between them, and she sort of collapses sideways so she can lie down, turning onto her back a moment later. He stretches out beside her so he can lean over her, and they’re both still out of breath but they’re also both smiling.

“We should shower,” he says, because they both have sticky hands and slick genitals, and they’ve both had fingers in places that should see a reasonable amount of soap before they go anywhere else, and she looks up at him and laughs. 

“And then more?”

He grins, kisses her, then kisses her jaw, her neck, scatters not-bites against her breasts, sucks a nipple into his mouth.

“If you think you can stand to be around me for any longer,” he says once he’s worked his way back up.

“Oh,” she says, faux-undecided as she moves one cold green metal foot up his calf to make a point. “I think I could warm up to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun links:
> 
> \+ [Apfelgranate on tumblr](https://apfelgranate.tumblr.com/)  
> \+ [Lady Liberty as a Human Being by Bas Uterwijk](https://mymodernmet.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/bas-uterwijk-lady-liberty-1.jpg)  
> \+ [Munich statue of Juliet Capulet, precisely buffed by the touch of thousands of tourists ](https://i1.wp.com/oneperfectdayin.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/munich-juliet-statue.jpg?resize=748%2C1122&ssl=1)  
> \+ [This is a screw in a jet engine turbine, aka the sound tiny objects make falling into complicated machinery I likened her laugh to ](https://youtu.be/4wKPTWXD2Z0?t=17)  
> \+ [Shiny new pennies](https://buffalo.kidsoutandabout.com/sites/default/files/imagecache/activitymain/pennies.jpg)
> 
> The Story: Back when Captain America: The Winter Soldier first came out, there was a text post going around about how Nat asks Steve "do anything fun Saturday night?" so many times that he snaps and says something like _"yeah, actually, I took the night off and let Lady Liberty peg me with her 12" red white and blue dildo to the national anthem"_ at which point the occpuants of the quinjet are dumbstruck and steve realizes he's gone too far. It was funny. But THEN a user called [Apfelgranate](https://apfelgranate.tumblr.com/) illustrated a 3 page comic that covered a human-sized Lady Liberty pegging a very hardworking Steve Rogers and it was _awesome_. I liked the comic because it was just NSFW enough to imply what was going on but, at the same time, showed characters who very clearly cared about each other. It was very sweet, and one day I hope I can link you to it again.
> 
> I thought of it occasionally until I saw artwork by Bas Uterwijk, who creates realistic portraits from national icons and paintings, so that we can see what the subjects did/would look like as human beings. He made Van Gogh from Van Gogh’s self-portrait, imagined what Michaelangelo’s David would look like brought to life from his statue, and then he made Libertas herself, the Statue of Liberty. I mean, guys. Please. If ever there was a woman who could walk off her giant pedestal and stomp all over my heart, it’s [Uterwijk's Lady Lib](https://mymodernmet.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/bas-uterwijk-lady-liberty-1.jpg). So of course, this whole thing came roaring back into the forefront of my brain and demanded to be pulled out of my head. 
> 
> Here are the reasons for some of my choices:  
> \- Lady Liberty weighs about half a ton because she's a working human being who also somehow magically happens to be made of copper. Despite this, she's not a danger to Steve's internal workings or the surrounding furniture, because magic.  
> \- Originally constructed by French architects, I had started out with her French, but then I figured, she's been in New York 135 years, she'd probably sound like a New Yorker most of the time  
> \- In episode four of season one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes (yes, the cartoon, this is Captain America All Media Types), Steve Rogers wakes in the twenty-first century to what he believes to be enemies. Not yet realizing these are the Avengers, he makes a break for it but, eventually, realizes the terrible truth - that he’s seventy years out of time - when he pulls himself up onto Liberty Island and finds, at the feet of the lady herself, a statue erected to the memory of himself and Bucky Barnes. I used the opportunity.  
> \- Wikipedia’s entry on the Statue of Liberty states that “originally, it was a dull copper color, but shortly after 1900 a green patina, also called verdigris, caused by the oxidation of the copper skin, began to spread.” This means not only that Steve’s never seen her copper, but also that I could have given her a really bad farmer’s tan and chose not to instead because _magic_. I was tempted though.


End file.
